Not That Kind of Woman
by thoroughlymodernJulie
Summary: Maria, torn with guilt and confusion, flees the von Trapp villa the evening of the "grand and glorious party." Despite her best intentions, all plans that come to mind fall to wrack and ruin at the hands of one certain sea captain who refuses to believe smoke and mirrors and is determined to extract the truth from her. Written for the April 2016 Proboards writing prompt.
1. Smoke and Mirrors

**smoke and mirrors** (noun, metaphor): _irrelevant or misleading information serving to obscure the truth_

* * *

The door slammed shut behind her with a thud. Loneliness welled inside of her chest; her eyes were wet with unshed tears. With all the freedom in the world to do as she pleased—she could stay put at Nonnberg or leave it, find a new life—she had never felt so suffocated and trapped.

"Where to, Fräulein?"

Maria's head jerked up and she sat straight in the leather seat with a start. She opened her mouth to respond, but the words stuck in her throat. Her senses were inundated with the musty smell of old leather, of rain, of the stench of cigarette smoke that clung to the cabbie. She stared at the man, who was looking at her with the most unbearable expression of pity, kindness, and, worst of all, burning curiosity.

She looked down at her lap and nervously began to twist the fabric of the scratchy grey skirt between her fingers. "I… I…"

Those piercing blue eyes were gazing at her expectantly, and still she had no answer. Her breath caught, she swallowed, and shook her head.

No, no, this man had brown eyes, dark as night, and scruffy red hair and a beard, with a long, thin face.

" _Guck mal_ , _Fräulein_ , you gotta tell me where t'go."

Maria blinked. "You're not from here. Where are you from?" Her voice was unsteady, but at least she could form words. She pretended not to hear the long sigh of annoyance. "We don't say that, here. _Gucken._ And we wouldn't say it so peculiarly, either," she pressed.

"You're one to talk, ya sound more refined than ya are."

That comment stopped Maria's inquiries. It was just as well. He was right.

"Take me to Salzburg," she said in a monotone.

"Still need an address, Fräulein," he prompted. "Ain't startin' this engine without a destination."

Maria looked impatiently behind her at the towering von Trapp villa encased behind its walls. What had possessed her to get in this taxi in the first place? She could have walked faster, and it wouldn't have cost her anything but time and sore muscles. She had planned to walk. But he had seen her slip through the gates and had flashed his headlights at her. She hadn't wanted to approach at all, but when she tried to pass casually by, he had stuck his head out the window and asked after her. Tired of having to make choices, she had glared at him, hoping he could not make out her red eyes and nose, and had heaved her things into the back seat, following along behind them.

"Residenzplatz," she finally supplied.

"Right ya are," he said, starting the engine and pulling away.

Maria fought the urge to turn around again and watch the villa disappear into the distance, swallowed by darkness, until she couldn't even see its lit windows. What good would it do? She would only torture herself, imagining the children helping each other get ready for bed. They thought she was joining the party, so she wasn't expected. She would torture herself imagining the Captain's confusion when he realized that her place at the dinner table was empty. He would assume something was amiss with the children and let her alone, she decided. She wouldn't be missed aside from that. Max might make a fuss, but the Baroness, as far as Maria had gathered over the past week, had proved herself a master in distracting Max from his various annoying and harebrained schemes, especially when the Captain's eyes seemed to blaze fire and his nostrils flared.

Maria couldn't fathom what use she would be in trying to convince her employer to make a spectacle of his children. She did not even know if she thought it an appropriate idea, in all truthfulness. She just knew that many women had gone to greater lengths for far less, and she was not that kind of woman. Even if she wanted that, she in no way whatsoever possessed the guile and wherewithal, the air of mystery and complete and total control and awareness that it would take to be such a thing.

Some would call her too naïve, but she had come to call it honesty.

"I'm from the Rhine."

"What?"

"Ya asked where I come from, that's where I come from."

"Oh," Maria said. So, he was German. Normally, she would have parried back that "the Rhine" was not a sufficient answer. He could be from any number of places that fit that description. Normally, she would have peppered him with question upon question and would have used the trip to learn who this man was and find out what he was doing so far from home. Normally…

Would she ever feel normal again?

She had wanted to remove herself from an explosive situation, cause as little damage as possible, and in that split-second of indecision, had decided to just go back to the way things were _before_. But there was no before, and there was no after. She had stepped from a dream into a nightmare.

"What a fool I am," she muttered.

"We're all fools in love, Shakespeare says anyway," said the cabbie absently. He had given up on trying to engage Maria in any way whatsoever and was focused on the road ahead.

She blanched and found herself wishing for the thousandth time in an hour that she could turn back the clock and change things. But it rose up in front of her vision, a bright spot in the darkness, something clear and sure inside this musty, old cab: _love_.

The baroness had said _he_ was in love with her… but Maria finally understood what the Baroness had tried to show her. It wasn't that the Captain had fallen for the governess. No, not that. It was that she, Maria, had gone and fallen in love with the sea captain. She, a postulant! She, of no position, with hardly a thing to her name! She had fallen in love with a man famed across Austria for his acts of heroism in maritime war; she had fallen in love with a man who had been personally recognized by the Emperor. He was everything in the Old Order and a bulwark carrying into the new.

He deserved so much better than anything she could ever give him, and she could never be the woman that he needed. She couldn't be his deceased wife, and she could most certainly not be the glamourous and cultured Baroness Elsa Schröder. And, she realized with shocking clarity, if she were ever to marry, she would want to have her own child—what man would want that when he already had _seven_? It was absurd, and if she had anything to be grateful for in all of this, it was that the Baroness had seen fit to approach her, and no matter the appropriateness of that decision, she was grateful.

But if this was better, why did she feel so _miserable_?

"Where ya from, Fräulein?"

Maria looked up at the cabbie, blinking several times as she realized the lights of Salzburg were flooding through the cab windows.

"Tyrol," she said. "But I went to school in Vienna."

"That explains your 'peculiar' speech," he jibed lightly, but when his passenger failed to react, he shrugged and asked gruffly, "Where should I bring ya?"

"The fountain," Maria said mechanically.

"You're a strange one, girl. Ya sure there ain't someone I can fetch for you?"

And there it was again. That gripping, welling loneliness. It constricted her chest and made it hard to breathe, let alone speak. Loneliness that was black and despairing. She had always enjoyed her solitude, but this was something else entirely. It was as if a chasm had opened up inside her and filled itself with everything terrible she had ever thought or done. And the worst of it? She had fallen in love with a man, a betrayal and perversion of her very calling.

"No," she whispered. "No one."

Aching to get away from this man, Maria pulled her guitar onto her lap and snapped the case open. Within, she felt around for the little compartment and pried it open, grabbing a few crumpled notes and thrusting them toward him as he drove into the Residenzplatz.

"Keep the change," she said brusquely, hastily shutting the case and getting a firm grip on her carpet bag. She lodged her guitar case under her arm, and bolted from the vehicle as soon as it began to slow. She didn't look back after slamming the door behind her, instead rearranging her belongings into each hand and walked with purpose toward the river.

"Hey!" came the cabbie's voice. "Hey, stop!"

Maria paused, heaved a sigh, and turned.

"Your hat, Fräulein."

Hardly making the effort to lift her feet, Maria swiveled and trudged back to take the ugly leather hat that the cabbie was holding out for her from his open window. " _Dankeschön_ ," she muttered, trying to smile at him and failing.

He saluted her briefly and nodded, pulling himself back through the window and shifting the idling engine back into gear. This time, Maria stood there and watched until his cab disappeared between the buildings in the square and snaked its way back through the streets of Salzburg, probably to cross over the Salzach and stake out a spot near the Hotel Sacher.

Shaking her head, Maria looked over her left shoulder and peered up at the fountain. It would be encased in its protective cover before very long to protect it from the coming winter. Fortifying herself with a heave of her bags, Maria trudged up the steps and sat down, knees knocking together as she settled her things beside her. Then, she let the sound of the water behind her fill her mind, and dropped her head into her hands.

"Dear Father, please help me."

Moments could have lasted hours. Suddenly, the bells were tolling the hour, their vibrations reaching deep inside her. There was something about experiencing this in the dead of night, with just the slightest chill in the air, that made Maria acutely aware of herself: the pounding of her racing heart, the water falling behind her, the lack of words.

Normally, she could pray like she was talking to her best friend. She could talk about anything and everything, earnestly, and without stopping for long intervals. How many times had she looked up from her prayers over folded hands only because her stomach was rumbling and the sun's position proved that it was almost mealtime, surprised by the time that had passed? How often had she lost track of time as she wandered the Untersberg because she was so absorbed in her conversations with the Lord? And now, here she was, sitting on the cold stone steps of the fountain in the Residenzplatz, more in need of a refuge than ever and finding none.

She could go back to Nonnberg, she mused. Like she had originally planned. She could say that she was no longer needed and it would not be a lie. Most certainly, the news of the engagement of the Captain von Trapp and Baroness Schröder would be announced by the end of the week, if what the maids and Frau Schmidt had to say had much weight—and by what Maria had seen, they were very nearly never wrong.

On the other hand, she could leave. Go somewhere else, do something else, be someone else.

But where?

So in love with her beloved Alps for as long as she could remember, Maria had never put much consideration into venturing beyond the world she knew. She could return to Vienna and find a teaching position, or maybe open a seamstress shop. Or, maybe… the world _was_ so much bigger than Austria, after all. The jilted attempts at conversation with her cab driver had been plenty proof of that. It was somewhat embarrassing, the thought that she really did know nothing of the people that lived beyond the borders of her homeland and shared her mother tongue.

But if the rumours of the rumblings of war were to believed, certainly Germany would not be a wise choice. Switzerland, perhaps… or…

"Paris," she said aloud, to no one but herself. "I'll go to Paris."

"It is a fine choice, a lovely city," said a voice from below.

Frozen in place, Maria's flight or fight instinct was paralyzed. Hardly daring to believe it, she slowly raised her head. The figure stepped closer, and she shrank back, knocking her elbows against the worn stone of the step behind her.

"No," she breathed. "You're not supposed to be here. This is a nightmare."

The man stepped nearer still, pausing just at the foot of the steps.

"You see, Fräulein," he said, "I have been very lucky to have the opportunity to visit Paris on a number of occasions, and it has never disappointed. There are myriad opportunities there for someone so talented as yourself. You could be a seamstress, yes, of course. Naturally. But, you could sing, too. And even dance, as you showed me so well tonight." He gestured to her carelessly. "Really, it does not matter. You would do well."

"What are you doing here?" she rasped, her rough voice betraying the wild fear she felt growing with each passing moment.

That gave the Captain pause, and she could just make out from her vantage point the way he raised his chin higher and his eyes widened at her words. Was it surprise? Or anger?

"I think," the Captain said softly, "that I should be asking _you_ that. But I am not, you see. I merely wish to help you." He reached out a hand. "Come down from there, it must be dreadfully uncomfortable."

"I'm fine where I am, thank you, sir," Maria said stiffly.

" _Sir_?" Georg repeated with a note of curiosity playing in his voice. "As I recall, you have called me many things, but that has not been one of them, not since the day we met and you deemed it appropriate to mock my militarism."

Now, Maria's fear was fading, and it was instead morphing to bewilderment. What in heaven's name could he be raving on about?

"I'm sorry, but have you gone mad?" she asked sharply.

He gave a derisive laugh, one that became a series of small chuckles. "One might say that, yes," he nodded. "You see, I noticed that my governess was missing, and I came after her. Who does that?"

"How did you even know where to look?"

"Well, aside from the fact that you have never been a particularly opaque person, and are someone whose absence can be felt keenly…" the Captain trailed. He spread his hands. "The cabbie who brought you here came back. He seemed to think you might do something mad, yourself. So I transcended the madness, and I asked him to bring me here as quickly as he could."

Warily, Maria surveyed the naval captain standing at the foot of the steps below her. He was still dressed in uniform, and she could see his Maria Theresa Cross glinting in the moonlight. "How long have I been gone?" she asked.

"It's just past midnight, now," the Captain said casually.

Maria leaned back. The children had gone to bed around 9 o'clock.

"I, uh, I also found this," he added, pulling the small envelope she had left for him from inside his jacket. "I read it, and naturally was very concerned. It did not seem to fall in line with the woman who was dancing with my children on the terrace just an hour prior to leaving this in the great hall."

He pulled her hastily-scribbled note out and shook it open, squinting down at it to read it by the light of the moon. _"I missed the abbey. Please forgive me."_ He looked up. "I claim to be no master detective, but Fräulein, there is something you should know. You are a _terrible_ liar, even on paper."

She sat there, wordless, and closed her eyes.

"Perhaps I overstep my bounds and make assumptions I have no right to make, but I seem to recall you saying a short while ago that you would go to Paris. Frankly, that does not sound like someone who misses the cloistered life. That, and the staircase to the abbey are but a few minutes' walk from here. You could be ensconced in your little room safe and protected from whatever has frightened you, and instead, you have been sitting there for hours, plotting schemes to leave here."

Silence fell around them, and as the minutes ticked by, the sea captain gazed up at his governess expectantly, waiting for a response. Finally, he folded her note and placed it back inside his jacket, straightening it with a snap and brushing away invisible lint.

"You're free to do as you will, but at least come back and give the children a proper goodbye. You can leave after breakfast."

Maria sat there, seeming not to hear him.

"Say something, please," he said.

She opened her eyes, if not for his words, then for the fact that his voice had lost its light, curious timbre, and instead seemed to have cracked under strain.

Standing, she brushed herself off and descended the steps, pausing several paces from where the Captain was standing. "I think," she said lowly, "you know that it would not be appropriate for me to return. Not in the least."

"Have I done something unforgivable?" he asked her, bewilderment etched on his face. "Please, tell me what it is, and I'll set it right!"

"Forgive me, Captain, but you cannot fix this. Only I can."

"The children, then?" he prompted.

"Oh, no, never!" she assured. "They couldn't cause such a mess if they tried."

"You won't miss them?"

"That isn't fair."

His nostrils flared and Maria was satisfied to see an angry spark in his eyes.

"I'll tell you what isn't fair, Maria. What is not fair is that my children love you, and depend on you, and you've just gone and left them, without a word. What isn't fair is that you left me with a lie. After everything, don't you think I at least deserve the truth? What isn't fair is that in the moment when I read your note and realized you must have gone away, everything was suddenly wrong again. What isn't fair is that I tried to tell myself to let you go, and even though I went to search for you, found nothing, and was prepared to abandon you to a memory, this cabbie shows up and flags me down and tells me that he took a woman matching your description from my property and that she seemed very distressed, and likely to do something unthinkable! Then, I _had_ to follow, and _that_ is what is not fair!"

Maria gazed across at him with the most peculiar expression on her face, wordless once again in the face of his tirade.

"What?" he asked viciously.

"You called me Maria," she said quietly. "You've never done that before."


	2. Aid and Abet

**aid and abet** (verb, idiom): _to assist another in the commission of a crime by performing some overt act or by giving advice and encouragement_

* * *

Time stood still once again. Man and woman stared at each other, thousands upon thousands of realizations swarming between them, their tenuous foundation of civility and fraternity seeming to crumble to dust in that very instant.

"I… what…can't believe—" he blustered, furiously working his mouth and trying to find words. "I—I've never had a suicidal governess to run after, before!" the Captain finally roared.

At this declaration, Maria burst out laughing, gripped with the insanity of it all. "Suicidal?" she choked out. "Dear Captain, if you want to continue to claim to read me well, you would know that I spend many evenings sitting on the banks of the Salzach, and never with the intent to cause myself harm. I simply like to hear the sound of water, like the smell, and love the view. It helps me think."

"Then what in the bloody hell is so important that you had to take flight in secret, simply to _think_?"

Drawing a deep breath, Maria glared at him and stood taller, squaring her shoulders. "I can't say."

"I think you can, and just won't," Georg said savagely. "You're a coward, and like a coward, you run away instead of facing your problems!"

Affronted, Maria raised an accusatory finger to the man in front of her and cried, "How dare you! You're the worst of them all! You abandoned your children when they were left without a mother! You shut them out and all but lived in Vienna!"

"Grief makes you mad!" Georg shouted back, stepping closer. "When you love someone so deeply that they're your beginning and your end, and then they're gone, never to return, it makes you mad! You do unthinkable things! Unforgivable things!"

He was breathing hard following this tirade, practically heaving, and could not seem to be able to figure out what to do with himself. Maria stared at him as he drew ragged breaths, studying his shaking hands and tense, knotted shoulders, the straining muscles in his neck obvious…and then, his face. Those piercing blue eyes.

She had seen them when she looked at the cabbie and her heart had stopped, though it was just a vision and far from real. But if what she had felt then had caused her fear and longing, it was nothing to what she felt now, with him right in front of her, Brigitta's words echoing in her head: her face flushed, her limbs turned to jelly, and her stomach dropped. There was a glint in those eyes, something she had seen before, something she recognized. Something she _wanted_. He stilled just as she came to this realization, and he was now gazing straight into her eyes, a questioning expression slowly forming across his face.

Maria could feel the panic rising in her chest. He had seen it. He had seen her plain desire, and now, there was no escape.

Dazed, the world moving in slow motion, she tried to back away, but her feet did not seem to want to move, and then suddenly, his arms were around her and he was crushing her to himself, kissing her as though his very life depended on it, and in that moment when his lips met hers, Maria found that she was kissing him back.

If his touch mere hours ago had caused shivers to rush through her body and herself to falter in confusion as he led her into the _Ländler_ , it was nothing to the fire lit now, sustaining her and crippling her all at once. Oh, if this could only last forever—

"No!" she spat, breaking away with a shove. "No! No. I'm not that kind of woman. I won't be that kind of woman, Captain, and I could never be the one you need."

The Captain was staring at her, now, agog, shaking his head slowly. "What are you so afraid of?" He gestured to himself. "Is it me?"

To her horror, Maria could feel tears welling in her eyes, and try as she might, she couldn't stop them from falling, so as she stood across from this man, this man that made her finally understand what _passion_ meant, she dashed away the tears and felt her heart break in half. "No, no, it's not. It never could be you. I'm the fool, it's like he said. I'm a fool in love."

Cocking his head to one side, Georg asked, "What's that?"

"It's nothing important," Maria mumbled. "Just something that cabbie said to me while I was muttering to myself. Something about Shakespeare."

"No," Georg shook his head. "Not that. The other thing. _What_ you said. About being a fool in love. Is it… someone else?"

"Oh, that," Maria said. She could feel her chin quivering, and she did not think that there was a way this could possibly get any more embarrassing than it already was. She met his gaze, and that glint, that hunger, had gone, to be replaced by—could it be? Could it truly be _triumph_ she saw in those eyes?

"Maria…" he trailed, reaching out to the scared young woman.

Releasing a gasp, shoulders shuddering as she did so, she said, "It's no use, don't you see? You'll marry the Baroness, who will be perfect for you, the children will have a mother again, and I…"

"You… what?"

"I don't know," she said hollowly, shaking. "I belong neither here nor there."

"Come back with me, Maria," the Captain coaxed. "Please, we can talk about this."

"I don't want to talk about it," Maria said. "There's nothing _to_ talk about."

Georg bit back the urge to swear again. Hadn't she understood the kiss? What it had cost him, what control she had caused him to relinquish in order to give it? The agony of believing she was gone for good, lost to them? How much richer she made his life, just by being there? Then, he would just have to say it. The realization that had come to him when she froze time with that simple statement: _You called me Maria_.

"I won't let you go, not that easily," he said firmly. "I love you, Maria."

She gazed at him dolefully, and simply shook her head. "You only think you do."

"If you believe that, truly believe it, then why are you still standing here?"

Why? Because she was finished being the one to stand on the outside looking in. She was finished making herself believe she could have things that were never hers to have. She was finished chasing foolishness. It was time to find herself something that wasn't absurd, something that wasn't a dream, something that wasn't a nightmare. Something ordinary.

"I wanted one last glance through the looking glass," she said. "One last chance to behold the fairytale. I see now it was a mistake."

"Grant me this," Georg said forcefully. "Just this one thing: why do you not believe my words?"

"I told you, I can't—"

"Then I tell you again, you're a coward," he cut over her coldly. "The woman I know could not bear to live with the bitter disdain of the children she had come to love, of the motherless children who had come to love her, because she _abandoned_ them."

"Why do you say such cruel things?" Maria questioned, fists balling unconsciously at her side. "Why? You have no right! I am not your wife, I am not yours, and I don't _belong_ to you," she spat.

"Because as surely as you love my children, I speak the truth in love to you now. And, what's more—you're miserable, and somebody ought to show you why!"

"You presume to know me yet again, and yet again… you are wrong."

"No," Georg said, his voice dangerously low. "I don't think I am. But, I forget myself. I did not come here to interrogate my governess as to her miscreant behaviour, but rather to compliment and help her in her endeavours to flee to Paris. Do you know French? You really should, if you're to live there. I could teach you."

Startled by his casual shift back to light and helpful curiosity, Maria's voice shook as she said, "Why should I trust you? Nobody from your world expects to give anything without receiving something in return."

"We could work out a deal," he shrugged. Tilted his head carelessly, as if to indicate just how secondary this was to the primary priority: helping Maria.

Maria looked him up and down, considered his words. Remembered the kiss. And what's more, the dance. She did not think she could bear to be so close to a man who said he claimed to love her and yet was able to turn that aside so cavalierly, as if it was a joke. She began to shake again, wracked with the sorrow and injustice of it all.

"Why did you kiss me?" she demanded. "What honorable aristocrat and military hero follows his governess into the night and when he finds her, kisses her, as though she is something to claim, a dirty secret to keep? Why not kiss me there on the terrace, in front of the children, in front of your guests? In front of your _intended_?"

"Last I was aware, aside from being wholly unattached from anyone," Georg said coolly, "my governess wasn't behaving so damned peculiarly. When I learned that she was, I realized some things."

He was close to her. No more than two feet separated them, and her skin was practically humming with desire. Desire for him to touch her, desire for him to hold her, desire for him to take her in his arms and dance with her, and _yes_ , even to kiss her. Could he feel it, too? Could he feel the hum of desire from her, did he also feel it in the core of his very soul, just as she did? It was unearthly, unyielding, crushing.

And then he stepped up to her again and took her in his embrace, and was once more kissing her, and she was responding, arms drawing around him, toes pushing up so that she could meet his height more fully, lips parting as their tongues met and they breathed, her heart pounding in her ears at an echoing, steady beat. _He_ was so steady, so firm, so strong. So devilishly attractive, so infuriatingly righteous, so incredibly… real.

Maria opened her eyes.

"You love me," she whispered, a hand trailing up his chest so that her fingers could wonderingly trace at his lips, his face, his skin. "You're real." She framed his face with both hands, and pulled him lower to kiss him chastely on the lips. She withdrew slowly, as though she was using the time she gave herself to memorize every little thing about this moment so that she could keep it always.

"I do, and I am," Georg breathed, gathering her hands into his and kissing her knuckles.

It could be lovely, she knew. An entire future sprawled out before her, filled with laughter and passion and things far greater than stolen kisses and emotion-laden declarations. He would treat her well, he would treasure her... and she would treasure him.

"I told you, already, Captain… I'm a fool in love, but I'm not that kind of woman. I could never—"

"Kiss me," Georg cut in. "Go on. Once more, with feeling, Maria. Really kiss me, and then tell me you don't love me and I will go away from you and it will be as if this never happened."

"But it did happen," she countered. "But it did."

"Kiss me," he said firmly.

The thoughts, the arguments, everything that could ever be said to the contrary, ceased their mad swirling inside Maria's head, and once more, she was aware of the silence of the night. Of the water falling from the fountain behind them. Of them, breathing.

Her gaze flitted across his face, and came to rest on his lips. She bit down on her own, torn with indecision. He hadn't offered to correct anything she'd said thus far, and she wasn't fool enough to think that he would actually _marry_ her. Then, he would be the fool. If this is what it would take to turn him away, no matter what the cost to herself, then she would grant it.

Dropping her shoulders, she breathed out slowly, steadying herself, relaxing. Never removing her eyes from his lips, she reached out to cup his face, tilted her head, and kissed him. As she kissed him, she thought to herself a love song, and she did her best to convey that, something lurching within her soul the second he began to respond in turn. It was wonderful, and she pushed up on her toes once again, but this time did not tear away. Her stomach had erupted in a whirl of butterflies, and everything fell away. The loneliness, the dark night, the chill of the air, the square, the fountain, the water. Only time continued to tick slowly past, but if Maria tried hard enough, she could hear the melodies of her song speaking to her, pushing her, surrounding her.

His hands had come to rest on her forearms, but now she realized, nipping at his lip and beginning again, the scent of his cologne, that spicy, musky aroma, tying itself into her awareness, that his hands had grasped at her waist, and he was holding her steady, holding her up, holding her close.

The music in her head reached a crescendo as he wrapped his arms fully around her and cradled her, his breath lighting over the skin of her neck as he broke the kiss and pressed his lips to a spot just below her ear, to which she shivered and gave a little gasp.

Counting slowly, not trusting herself to remain steady although the Captain was quite literally supporting her, Maria opened her eyes and leaned away, peering up at the man that had, in turns, so infuriated her and yet had so thoroughly endeared himself to her. Over and over and over again.

"It started with that silly whistle," she rasped.

The Captain released her and stepped away, cocking his head expectantly. "Well?" he prompted.

Gathering herself, Maria met his gaze, prepared to say the words to release him. _I don't love you_. So simple, so few. So stark. So destructive. Truly, this was so much worse than having run off into the night without a word. It was so much worse than having looked up to find him standing there. So much worse than the shouting and the insults. So much worse than the truth.

But just as her feet had refused to move, her tongue refused to unstick itself from the roof of her mouth. She shook her head, despairing, and raised folded hands to cover her mouth, her eyes closing as tears leaked from them and she tried her utmost best to contain the sob rising in her throat. She could not allow him to see how much this hurt her. He'd already seen the truth she would not say, and she would not level yet another blow at him. Not like this.

Georg von Trapp had rarely found himself locked in a losing battle, but when he had, time and again he had fought to hard, pushed to hard, to empty means and so much unfathomable loss. He watched the woman standing before him, and knew in that instant, that he could not keep doing this to himself. Surely, he was no longer on a naval ship commanding a fleet of men whose lives were tied to his direction, but this was really not very different.

He saw the shake of the head, the refusal, the tears. She had not said the words, not yet, but he knew she wanted to, even though they were not the truth.

She was right. It wasn't fair. Not any of it. And if she truly did not want this, want him, well… he was finished, then. It was not worth the anguish that they would both face as a result.

"Alright," he breathed. "I see. Good-bye, Fräulein Maria. I wish you well."

Maria's eyes opened, and in a flash, she saw he had turned from her and was walking away. The loneliness that had hung over her head for the past hours whooshed in and grasped onto the panicked realization that he was walking away from her, and with desperation, she reached out.

"No!" she cried, "Wait, please wait!"

The Captain had stopped at her first word, but did not turn around to look at her.

"Forgive me, Captain, but I am not brave," Maria called out, her voice cracking with pain. "But if I were to tell you the words that are in my heart, I fear that I could never turn back from them. What would it mean? Please, I need to know."

Slowly turning his head to look over his shoulder, Georg studied the pale, long face that was now streaked with tears. He thought of how her eyes crinkled when she laughed, how the sunlight illuminated the freckles that sprinkled her young face, of how her countenance was sunshine itself, and yet here… she was everything but, a display of brokenness and fear.

"I'm afraid that very much depends on what _you_ have to say," he said.

"It shouldn't," Maria said. "I don't believe that."

Turning around to face her again, Georg shook his head. "Fräulein, I have had too many occasions in my life in which I have had to make very hard decisions with very limited information. I hoped that tonight would not be one of them, but if you cannot find it within you to be transparent with me after I have been so transparent with you, then we are finished here, and there is simply nothing left to say. It can be as you say, and we will become strangers once again."

"But I don't want that," she said mournfully.

"After everything I've said to you tonight—and yet you still remain unconvinced—the fact remains that _I_ do. Love should not be a hostage situation, you see, and I have no intention of using force on a woman who won't have me. I never have, and I never will."

"But _what_ does that mean?" Maria cried, her voice rising to a shrill. "Are you to take me into your bed, make me your lover? Are you to send me away to meet in secret? Would you _marry me_? Because, Captain, of all the scenarios, surely that is most absurd of them all!"

"Why should it be so absurd to marry you?" Georg asked incredulously, advancing toward her.

"I have no title," she whispered, "even your wife was from the noble class. I know, because the children told me. I have no money, no finesse, I am not a graceful person. I could never navigate your world, Captain. You saw how Franz looked at Max tonight when he said to set a place for me at the dinner table, it was insane! And the Baroness said—"

Here, Maria broke off, as if she realized she had said too much. She turned her face downward, refusing to look him in the eye.

Georg's eyes widened and flashed. "What did she say, Maria? Did Elsa do something to you?"

"She was trying to help," Maria said in a whisper. "Help us both."

Drawing in a sharp breath, Georg said levelly, "Judging from the fact that we are both standing here right now instead of where we should be, I somehow very much doubt that. Please, Maria. I beg you, please tell me."

She was gazing at him with wariness once again, and if he looked carefully enough, he could just make out that she had flushed, perhaps with embarrassment, or… heaven forbid, shame?

"She said you were infatuated with me, and that you would get over it 'soon enough,'" Maria obliged, at last. "But… I didn't believe it. The way you look at me—the way you _looked_ ," she corrected herself, "even as we danced. I blushed. I reacted, and it wasn't appropriate, not in the least!"

"I have known Elsa for a very long time," Georg said. "She is very familiar with the games that we aristocrats play, and she is familiar with me. But," he swallowed, "in this instance, she is wrong. She is not wrong generally speaking, no, but, you see… she is a good friend to me, but I don't love her." Even as he said these words, however, Georg realized what it was in seeing the attraction between the governess and the sea captain that had motivated Elsa to speak to Maria at all. She had been willing to accept a loveless marriage, but had tried to defend what she _did_ have.

Maria was looking at him with a scrutinizing expression once again. "I'm not sure that I understand," she said slowly.

Georg reached out, offering her his hand. "Come. Let's take a walk along the river, and I'll explain."

For a long, painful moment, Georg was afraid that Maria would turn away the offer, for her face was unreadable, completely blank. But just as he was about to drop his arm to his side, she stepped forward and grasped his hand, and he felt a warmth flood through him as a voice inside his head whispered that _maybe_ , just maybe, this night would turn out to be grand and glorious after all.


	3. Above and Beyond

**above and beyond** (preposition, idiom): _in excess of the expectations or demands of something or someone_

* * *

Georg strode with purpose, though he tried not to walk too fast and seem overeager. If they just kept moving, if he just kept her moving, she wouldn't have the opportunity to panic and flee. Thus, when he felt a great lurch and looked back to find that Maria had stopped mid-step, his stomach dropped to his feet.

"Sorry," she gestured apologetically, "it's just, well, my things—that is, my guitar is quite valuable. It would not do to leave it behind."

"Of course not, no," Georg agreed quickly, feeling a bit of a boar for not having thought of her things. "Here, let me. Stay here," he said, releasing her and hurrying back to the fountain, where he dashed up the steps and took her carpetbag in one hand and her guitar in the other, grasping firmly. The instrument and its case weighed at least double that of her carpetbag!

"What on earth have you got in here," he grunted as he came up to her.

"Just the instrument and some of my sheet music," Maria murmured, reaching out to take the guitar from him. "It's like I told you when I arrived: nearly all my earthly possessions were given to the poor when I joined the abbey."

"But you made yourself new things, and bought quite a few more, from what I've seen!" Georg exclaimed as he handed the instrument over but shook his head when she tried to take the carpetbag, too, and instead offered her his free arm, which she linked her own through after a moment's hesitation.

"I left it all behind," Maria said. "I thought Louisa might get some use out of them when she's grown a little more. Liesl, too, with some minor alterations. I certainly couldn't, not at Nonnberg."

Georg was silent at this, and quite truthfully, amazed. Though he had so harshly accused her of acting otherwise, of acting selfishly, she _had_ been thinking of his children as she made her escape from his world. And clearly, at that time, she had every intention of returning to the cloister. So… what had changed? Why had it been so ludicrously easy to find her here, find her sitting alone in the dead of night in the old city, muttering to herself about going to Paris? Georg had the very distinct impression that if this woman wanted to make herself unreachable, she could make a fine job of it, small though Salzburg was. She, a native who knew its nooks and crannies, its shadows and its hiding places, had been sitting in open space in the public square.

It was curious.

But, he reminded himself with a shake, clearing his head as they crossed the street from the _Altstadt_ to the bridge that would take them over the Salzach to the walking paths, he hadn't come to question her and back her into corners…

Georg cleared his throat as they stepped onto the path and turned left, not sure where to begin. He had persuaded her of this with a promise to explain himself if she consented to come along. Would it be better to remain silent for a while? He turned his head toward Maria slightly, just enough to get a better look at her through his peripheral vision. Her head was bowed, and she seemed to be watching her feet as they moved along.

This wouldn't do, Georg thought, agitated. They had spent too much time already on their feet, holding their ground, circling one another, arguing…embracing. Passionately. Suddenly very afraid that he would lose control of himself again and kiss her as they trudged along the banks of the Salzach, and quite possibly turn her against him unwittingly, Georg raised his head and looked around, hoping to find a park bench. He needed to sit down for this.

Spotting one a little further down the way, he led his companion to it and gestured that she should take a seat, and he joined her, setting her guitar between their feet. Maria hadn't said a word since he'd asked about her bags, but then, neither had he. She must be wondering what he was doing, must be wondering if he was stringing her along in some silly game, playing her for a fool. What was it she'd said? _A fool in love_.

Turning only slightly, Georg observed her once again from the corner of his eye and wondered what she was thinking. Her gaze was on the water line, and on the glittering sight of the buildings across the river lit up in the night. It really was beautiful, he thought. Charming and sure and still standing, through millennia. Just as sure as this love for her that burned inside him. Now, to make her _believe_ that.

He sighed. "I had no plans to court anyone, Maria, let alone _marry_. After my wife died, I didn't believe that I could find anything that could match the love I had for Agathe Whitehead, and so much of why she died—well, really, it _is_ my fault. If only she hadn't borne so many children. There were two miscarriages, you see, between Brigitta and Marta that severely weakened her, and there's barely a year and a half between Marta and Gretl. Nine children over eleven years… what's more, I should have been there, been more involved, taken less assignments, anything other than what I did do. So, I did not particularly find myself _worthy_. I hated myself for a long time."

Through all of this, Maria had sat beside him silently, with her hands folded in her lap, giving no indication that she could be listening, let alone alive, aside from the slight rise and fall of her chest as she breathed. She looked up, however, with wide eyes and an earnest face when he reached his confession of self-loathing.

"I had known Elsa Schröder for nearly twenty years when Agathe died, and though we did not see each other frequently, we ran in the same circles and I often collaborated with her husband on some engineering designs that were commissioned by the Italians. He died ten years ago, so Elsa had been alone for several years by the time Max persuaded me to at least go out for appearance's sake, after the appropriate mourning period had ended. We ran into each other at a party, started talking, and then before I knew it, we were seeing quite a lot of each other, and I had opened my house in Vienna back up permanently, as I was there so often."

Georg spread his hands in his lap, staring down at them and needing a moment to think. "She likes to cultivate the image otherwise, more for her own sake than anything, but Elsa loved her husband very much and was quite lost when he passed. It was sudden and unexpected, an accident at a worksite where they were making adjustments to a submarine he had designed. Her reservedness heightened, and she sharpened her claws, so to speak. But we began to talk, that night, and she all but bloomed open like a flower before me, and motivated me to speak of times and places I hadn't thought of since… before."

He shrugged. "It was a free and easy friendship, where neither required anything of the other, and it did not take long for people to start whispering about whether we would announce our engagement. It did make a good deal of sense, after all, and for all intents and purposes, we are a perfect match. I'll not deny that."

Maria had turned to face him. "Then why… why haven't you, yet? Proposed marriage?"

"You see, I had wrestled with that for so long. I _knew_ it made sense. I knew it would be in the children's best interests to have a mother again. I knew we would be good for each other, and that marriage to Elsa would not be the emotional deadweight that I so feared coming back to. Perhaps it is selfish of me, but it is, I think, reasonable."

Maria nodded at this, seeming to agree without judgment.

"Some time ago, I realized that what held me back was that some little part of me was holding back because, although I hold her in high esteem, and value her friendship, and find her desirable, I don't love her. So I stalled even longer. And then, I met _you_."

Maria's eyes were round as saucers, and she had opened her mouth to protest. Georg, however, placed his hand over hers and shook his head.

"Maria, you turned my world upside down. You made me angry, you annoyed me, and on just your first day in my home you seemed to be on your way out the door just as you walked in—the amount of insubordination in our first few words alone could have done it, but you puzzled me. You confused me. You made me question everything I thought I knew about controlling people. Next, you blew that whistle, and I knew for sure that you were outside my jurisdiction. It made me livid. And then, you sat on that _ridiculous_ pinecone, gave me such a silly excuse for it, and then I knew: I had to escape you, or you would drive me mad, and I would find myself entangled in something more scandalous and unbelievable than even I could fathom."

"I don't understand," Maria murmured, "You don't mean to say…"

"Yes, and I hope you will forgive me of it if you think it indecent, Maria," Georg confirmed. "I was unbelievably, madly, infuriatingly attracted to you."

"Well," Maria breathed. "Well, then."

Knowing he had gone too far by now to erase any possible offense, Georg opened his mouth to carry on with his explanations, but Maria surprised him:

"What was it?" she asked suddenly. "What was it about _me_ that did what such a beautiful, cultured woman such as Baroness Schröder is somehow not equal to?"

Georg gazed at the woman before him and shook his head slowly. "I still don't know," he murmured. "I have done more questioning over that fact alone in the past week alone. I know it makes no sense, I know it's not expected, not what's done, and certainly not decent. But you, you, Maria… you make my world brighter. That moment when I realized tonight that you might be gone forever, my heart hurt. I felt this overwhelming sense of loss… as if someone I loved dearly had died. And that's when I knew. I had fallen in love with you."

Maria stood after this pronouncement, moved a few feet away, her arms crossed over her chest, and began to pace. Georg watched her move to and fro silently, wanting to ask her what she was thinking, but feeling it would be wiser to hold his tongue.

Finally, she turned to him. "I hate the thought that you associate loving me with… _pain_. I have been that too many times to people, too much a burden, too much an obligation. I can't spend my whole life in that shadow, Captain. If loving me gave you happiness, then perhaps, but…" She shrugged, her lip quivering as her voice shook. "I'm sorry."

Georg was struck by what she said with a full and terrible force. Here it was, at last. Her truth. Love had too long been a thing of pain for her.

Voice catching in her throat, Maria looked up at the night sky and tried to stop the tears that threatened to fall. "I know it's not right, that it's terribly contrary." She turned her gaze back to the sea captain in front of her, biting her lip and giving a desperate stomp of her foot before continuing, "I think of the children, Captain, constantly, of how they're these bright bursts of joy and sunshine in my life that I've come to love so well, perhaps because they too love me unreservedly as I love them, but I think more because they taught me what true happiness feels like. Something you fight for and struggle with, but once you've made the choice to go the journey, it's worth it every step of the way. And I want to have that with you, but to hear you say what you just said… it grieves my heart more than I can even grasp."

Georg opened his mouth to contradict her, but she cut him off.

"Besides, you still have not told me what loving a man such as you would entail."

Her gaze now was hard and unyielding, and Georg was acutely aware that the words he chose would matter above all else he said to his governess tonight. She had admitted again and again to being in love, but had yet to say that she was in love with _him_. It was clever, it was protective: she was acknowledging her feelings in that they could have these conversations, but she wouldn't give her heart away to be staked on a claim that she couldn't live with. Georg could not help but be awed by the magnitude of her strength in this display.

He had to fight the urge to stand up and kiss her, again, but he stayed seated, no matter how much he wanted to do otherwise. He did not wish to push her away.

"Allow me," he said slowly, "to paint you three different scenarios. To paint them richly and honestly, and then to say the one I choose, and why."

Maria had turned her back to him and was again facing the river, but after a long pause, she nodded. She wasn't certain that she could handle this, but there was no better way to find out.

"The first scenario, which you suggested, in which I bring you into my bed and make you my lover, is something I would do this very night if you would let me. I would hold you in my arms and cherish you, teach you all the ways to that men and women love each other, and I would claim a kiss for every breath you take. I would bring you to the heights of rapture, and you would know a new depth of feeling, of purpose, and of passion. This, I know."

Maria swallowed hard, gaze still fixed on the lit scene of Salzburg along the river, and nodded. She could do precious little else without betraying what his words made her feel, and as it was, her knees had gone weak. She couldn't trust her voice.

Taking in her nod, Georg watched the woman standing before him carefully, thinking that perhaps he had pushed it too far. But she had not retorted, had not claimed indecency, and there she still stood. He took a deep breath, and then continued: "The second scenario, which you also suggested, would be to send you away to meet in secret. Now, as you were contemplating going away to Paris, I think it is an apt setting for this tale. I could teach you so much about the city, the people, the culture, the language—yes, I meant that—and if you were to become a performer, I would come to see your every show. I would greet you before or after in your dressing room, as you would surely have your own, flowers ever in hand, and perhaps a small little token for a job well-done. I would take you to the finest Parisian restaurants and ply you with fine wine, champagne, whatever you wanted. And then we would take to the most glamourous, ritzy hotels, where I would ravish you until you wept, raw and spent."

Maria felt faint, at this, and her face was by now burning a hot, deep crimson. How could he find it in him to speak such intimacies? But, here she stood, not stopping him. Listening. Heart soaring as he painted these pictures so vividly, so thoroughly, so… passionately. If this is what it could be like to be loved by him…

Georg studied Maria's profile. She hadn't nodded, hadn't spoken, and was just standing there, very still. If she was taken aback, there was nothing to show for it.

Slowly, silently rising to his feet, the sea captain finished, "The third scenario would be to marry you, to make you my wife. I would love you to the end of my days, I would welcome more children with you, I would devote our every private moment to getting to know you better than the day before. We would be free to love each other openly, in front of each other, in front of the children, in front of the world. There would be no secrets and no shame, only intimacies and love and the sure knowledge that we stand side-by-side through anything that comes. I would never abandon you, and I would spend my life reveling in the light that your presence has brought into my life."

Drawing himself straight and tall, Georg went to Maria and laid a hand on her shoulder, coming around to face her. Her head was down, and her arms were still folded. Lifting her chin with a gentle hand, he looked into her eyes and said, "The light you brought into my life, Maria, is not something that was extinguished and then reignited. It is something that was never there before, and something I never wish to lose again. I know what I can stand to lose, now, because I have lost much, but _this_ , I know as surely as the sun rises in the east and sets in the west, I cannot relinquish. I wish to marry you, Maria, and if you say you love me, I will do it, because there is nothing I wish more in the world."

Maria gazed at this man in front of her, lost in wonder and disbelief. There would be so much to overcome, so much to struggle through, so much to learn…

But she breathed deep, the scent of the river and the grassy banks filling her nose, and it was suddenly so clear.

"I love you," she whispered. And then again, louder, with more force, "I _love_ you. I love _you_."

Face breaking into great smile, Georg held back the urge to crush her into his arms again, and simply bent his head to kiss her softly, waiting patiently, for which he was rewarded: she dropped her arms and wrapped them around him, tentative, but willing, and locked herself into his embrace, bringing the kiss easily from chaste to passionate with her steady, flowing eagerness, and when they finally broke away to look at each other, she stared up at him with those great, blue eyes, and then simply drew close, laying her head against his shoulder.

As he wrapped his arms around her waist to hold her fast, starting to gently sway, Georg thought he heard the faintest whisper emit from her.

"Oh, can this be happening to me?"

He smiled, and closed his eyes, drawing in the scent of her as he breathed, his chin resting on her soft hair. "I love you, Maria," he said.

A while later, the pair had taken up Maria's things and were wandering along the Salzach, happy and full from the little nothings they had spoken of, when at last they came upon the end of the path before the river led to the outskirts of the city, and there was waiting an empty cab with an alert driver waiting.

Georg gestured to the vehicle and said quietly to Maria, "I think you had better head home. It will be best if the children don't wake to find you gone. Perhaps not the most appropriate suggestion ever made, but to them you _are_ still the governess."

Brow furrowing, Maria asked, "What of the Baroness?"

She had explained in the intervening time between her declaration and now just what precisely had happened between the two women tonight, and Georg sighed. "I don't want to make the situation any more scandalous than it will already look, so we should go in together, I think. You go ahead and go to bed, and I will speak with Elsa, as there is a good chance she is still awake."

"Then, you will ask me?" Maria said.

"Yes," Georg nodded, "when I have taken care of my unfinished business, then I will get down on bended knee and ask you to be my wife. For my part, I sincerely hope that my intended will accept me."

Smiling, Maria allowed her soon-to-be-betrothed to stow her things in the car trunk, and then slid in the back seat and waited for him to join her. When the door slammed shut behind him and Georg had given the driver his address, she turned to him with a smile and said, "Your intended desperately wants to say yes. But you must kiss her, first!"

And so, he did.


	4. Epilogue: Through the Looking Glass

**through the looking glass** (prepositional phrase, metaphor): _a situation in which normal circumstances have been reversed or one's own perceptions are called into question_

* * *

There was a sharp tap on the window next to her. Maria looked up, wide-eyed, from the program she had clutched in her hands and had been peering at, reliving the thrill of such a wonderful evening at the theatre in the heart of Paris.

Her face relaxed into a smile when she realized it was her husband, who had gone back to fetch the gloves she had forgotten. Sliding over, she pushed the door open as she did so, calling, "Come on, Georg, or you'll get drenched!"

Just as they were exiting the theatre, the skies had opened up and rain began to pour down. They had dashed, laughing, for the nearest cab, and Maria realized only as she grasped his hand tighter that she had left the gloves in her seat, which she had removed midway through the show, annoyed at not being able to properly enjoy the intimacy of entwining her fingers with Georg's as they sat together in the dark hall.

She had tried to convince him not to go back for them—it was only a small matter, after all—but he had insisted.

"Here," Georg said, reaching through the door, "I saw the display and just had to ask if I could have one for my love."

Maria took the single, blood-red rose from him as he got in beside her, slamming the door behind him and giving the driver the address of their hotel. She twirled it in her hands a few times, and couldn't resist burying her nose in it to breathe in its deep, heady scent. She looked up to find her husband gazing at her with a tender expression on his face that all but turned her to jelly.

They lurched as the taxicab pulled away from the curb, and Maria slowly lowered her hands. Georg leaned forward and kissed her chastely, cupping her face as he did so.

"Georg," Maria breathed moments later, moments which lasted forever and not at all.

"I had to," he said simply.

Threading her fingers through his, Maria gave a squeeze of his hand and set it down in her lap.

"You know, you never did ask me why I had thought of Paris… the night you came after me. Why didn't you? Then, or later?"

Georg thought for a moment, realizing only now that she was right. "Well," he ventured, "I came after my governess with the intent of bringing her back, and was trying very hard not to scare her off. I know I failed, what with the fact that we came to blows... but, well, digging into your reasons for Paris seemed like a good way to poke you with a hot rod."

"Yes, I wouldn't have responded well," Maria mused.

"As for later… I don't know, really. I suppose I was simply too caught up in the awe that you had actually agreed to be my wife, in getting to know you, in making plans, and I booked Paris because I believed what I told you, that night."

"Indeed," Maria said faintly, cheeks flushing crimson as she thought back on the things her husband had promised to do to her in the scenarios she had given him on that night when she questioned him so fiercely, filled with raw and bitter emotion.

"And besides," he continued, looking out his window and quite unaware of his wife's reaction to his words, "you had said something about a glance through the looking glass. It appealed to me that we could simply… step through it, instead."

"You left something out," Maria said suddenly. "That night, when you told me how it would be to make me your wife."

Georg glanced over at Maria expectantly, watching her face go in turns from light to shadow as they rolled through the city and the rain pounded down above them.

"You didn't tell me that marrying you would mean… _realizing all three_. At once. In one place. Again, and again. The things you have done to help me, to teach me, to support me, to make me happy. The grand gestures and little moments. Like this rose." She lifted it, and took a moment to smell it again, clearly lost in thought. "You've gone so far beyond what anyone would require, what I _deserve._ You saw through my fear and my stupidity, and you saw _me_."

"Oh, love," Georg rasped, aware at once that Maria was both allowing herself to be honest and yet also deeply censoring herself, even though there was no way their driver could know what she spoke.

"You were so willing to let me go," she marveled, "even though you did not want that, and had said you wouldn't allow it without a fight. You were willing to let me go, even though you knew that what I was telling you was not the truth. And never once have you brought it up since that night. That takes such strength of character, Georg! I am constantly taken aback that I have married a man that is not only noble and principled, but loves me so much as you do."

Georg swallowed, nodding. He wasn't sure if he could trust himself to speak.

"Paris appealed, I suppose," Maria mused, "because it was something so completely different. Another life. I had never been outside of Austria, and Germany did not seem wise. I asked the taxi driver to take me to the square because it was a stone's throw from the abbey, and had every intention of making my way back there, but… I am not that kind of woman."

"There it is again," Georg said quietly. "I would be so intrigued if you'd explain."

"I'm not the kind of woman that will live a lie for her own sake. I didn't belong in Nonnberg. Everyone knew it, except for me, and at last it finally dawned on me, that night alone in the square. I'm not the kind of woman that would make intentional advances and go to bed with her employer. I'm not the kind of woman that would live in sin for only love's sake, no matter how I wanted it. I'm not the kind of woman that would play silly games to make another jealous. I'm not the kind of woman that holds herself to high esteem. I'm not the kind of woman that tries to outwit the hand she has been dealt. I'm not the kind of woman to ask for more than she is worth."

"No," Georg agreed. "You are not that kind of woman. Not in the slightest. And that is why I love you, why I love you beyond reason and logic and why I will continue to love you for all of my days."

Maria was looking at him with a strange expression, as though she was seeing him for the first time. It did not seem to matter that they were man and wife, that they were lovers, that they loved openly and they scaled the heights of passion in the secret of night and by the light of day, that they were friends that laughed openly and individuals that fought passionately and believed what they believed with every fiber of their being.

"You have been nothing I've expected and everything I've needed," Maria finally rasped, her voice cracking. "I am so unfathomably _grateful_."

"Oh, my darling," Georg breathed, and he took her in his arms and kissed her again, heatedly, passionately, with the feeling he had implored her to conjure that night several months ago, and neither were aware of the fact that the taxi had at last come to a stop, and that the driver was clearing his throat and trying unsuccessfully to get their attention. They were bound together, his fingers gently wiping away her tears, her kisses finding his lips, her hands holding fast to him as though she would never let him go.

He had come into her life and chased the darkness away. Just as surely as she had turned his world upside down, he had righted hers, and that was something she would cherish and never once take for granted because when all else fell away, crumbled away to dust and nothingness, with only the essence left behind… _that_ was the kind of woman she was, and would always be.


End file.
